Page 36 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

There were a whole lot of islands being discussed today. Confusing!

“My island is safe, so far,” Harek replied. “I came from there today, and no sign of Lucies. However, now that I think about it, I better pull in all my vangels from there, too. The island isn’t secure enough yet if high-level haakai Lucies come poking around.”

“Go with God,” Michael said then. “Call for me if, and when, you have Regina and/or Zebulan back here.”

On those words, he was gone, and all his angels with him. They would be sweeping up feathers outside for the next week. But that was of no importance. It was just like Michael to drop a bomb on them and then leave them to find a solution.

Like today. “Satan is waging a war against vangels. Do something about it.”

As if it would be easy, or even possible! But they had to try.

For a moment, Vikar was overwhelmed with all that he would have to do:

—Reinforce security at the Transylvania castle and make plans for housing and feeding all those additional bodies.

Alex could handle the logistics of accommodations with ease. She would probably draw up charts and everything. Right down to how many bars of soap and rolls of toilet paper per person.

And they would need to stockpile food for the duration. No ordering Domino’s during the lockdown. Lizzie knew every farm and market within fifty miles. He was confident she could handle that task, though she would complain mightily. Cnut’s wife, Andrea, was a chef; she could help Lizzie.

—Make sure the same was done for Grand Key Island.

—And secure Harek’s island and Ivak’s plantation, even though both places would be vacated.

—Rescue Regina and Zeb, if they were still “alive.” Cnut and Trond could handle that. Or maybe Trond alone, thus releasing Cnut for other duties. No, they could both go, and hopefully accomplish the mission in short order and return for other orders.

—Develop battle plans against the Lucipires. Mordr could head that operation, being a seasoned fighting man. But he would need all the brothers, especially Harek, to develop specific missions for various parts of the world. Maybe Trond, with his connection to Navy SEALs, could engage the military’s help in the terrorists’ aspect of these battles.

—Training would commence immediately in the dungeon gyms and outdoor fields. They’d been lax of late. Vangels’ earthly bodies must be continually tuned and fighting skills kept up to date. Like modern military special forces.

—Weaponry must be checked and new pieces seasoned with the symbolic blood of Christ. Swords, bullets, knives, throwing stars, whatever. The vangel Kurt Mortenssen would be good for that job.

—Order more Fake-O.

—Pray.

Vikar looked at his brothers who were on their cell phones, calling spouses and preparing to bring them all in, either here or to Grand Key Island. Then Cnut and Trond went into a huddle with Harek who already had his high-tech laptop out and was tapping away.

In that moment, Vikar realized that life as the seven brothers had known it was about to change, just as it had one thousand, one hundred and sixty-seven years ago when they’d first become vangels.

But where would that change put them next?

Chapter 8

And then they got company . . .

Zeb was out on the deck, absorbing the sun’s healing rays. He lay on a floral cushioned chaise lounge, made of natural cane by his own hands at one time, thank you very much, during an idle period twenty-five or so years ago when he’d fancied himself a woodworker. That was after his yoga period (meditation hadn’t done crap for him, except make him more depressed), but before he’d turned to farming (being a grape grower was really just glorified farming), and thus the overgrown garden he had outside the cottage, up on the hill, being weeded at the moment by Grimelda, who might very well be planting pot for all he knew from the myriad seeds she carried in her bag. Or some kind of poison plants to put in the ever-boiling cauldron, aka his former canning kettle (and, yes, I used to can vegetables and fruits from my garden, live with it!) that she had placed on his patio barbecue.

Patience was probably in the rain forest shower in his bathroom, depleting their water supply, again. Good thing it rained a lot here to replenish the cistern tank. Zeb’s hideaway might be a humble cottage, but he’d made sure it had all the modern amenities. Anyhow, as a Puritan, Patience had never experienced such luxuries before. And, as a lower-level Lucipire with no warrior skills, she’d never left Horror. A sheltered life, so to speak. But, no, he could hear her clanging pots and pans in the kitchen, preparing lunch, no doubt. She was probably wearing a bikini, also something new to her once modest lifestyle, and frankly Lucipires in the cold north didn’t get much of a chance to sunbathe. Zeb would have no more curtains or tablecloths left if she kept sewing up more of the skimpy bathing outfits. She even made one out of the fabric of a broken red patio umbrella. Nicely water-repellent. Not that she’d gone swimming, at all, or even knew how to swim, for that matter.

As for Beau, Zeb could hear him, cursing and banging away, up on the roof where he was bound and determined to get some TV reception from the antenna. The boy yearned for a ball game, or even an old episode of Swamp People. Zeb referred to him as a boy, even though he wasn’t that much older in human years, but he had him by centuries, even thousands of years, in Lucipire time.

In any case, Zeb had tried to tell Beau that it was a lost cause. Only occasionally was he able to get any reception, and even then it was intermittent and snowy. Same was true of cell phones. The Cloud didn’t come here, apparently. The island’s shielding probably didn’t help, either.

Zeb stretched out his arms, or tried to. It was more than four days since the escape from Horror, and he was still so weak and wracked with pain that he couldn’t walk or even sink into his whirlpool bathtub without help.

Demon vampires had no problems with sunlight, unlike angel vampires whose skin turned lighter and lighter, unless they got some blood from fighting Lucipires or saving sinners. Not an issue currently for Regina, whose skin had turned a creamy gold from the blood she’d been exchanging with him. And barely a freckle in sight. He knew. He’d checked. He could tell you precisely where all five of them were. Coppertone would love her for an ad campaign. “Who Says Redheads Can’t Tan?”

Skin tone was the least of Zeb’s concerns. He wore only loose boxer shorts to avoid chafing his still irritated penis. And forget about shoes on his raw feet, which were growing new skin, but not fast enough. He was still unused to his bald head which was smooth as a cue ball. In fact, he continued to be startled when he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, not recognizing the person who stared back at him. He didn’t blame Regina for the shaving while he’d been unconscious. Craven had done a job on him, yanking out tufts of his long hair by the roots. This evened him out. A fresh start.